


To Break the Unbreakable

by wincestplease



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, h/c, ptsd sam, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestplease/pseuds/wincestplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean stared at his little brother, feeling like a stranger, like a criminal, the way Sam eyed him with fear, shaking like a leaf caught in the harsh autumn winds. He stared at him, and he wondered how people could ever believe in any sort of higher power when his kid was here before him, starved and bruised and bloodied, like the most beautiful broken thing Dean had ever seen. He wanted to hug him, maybe, as if that could ever be a comfort. He refrains and keeps his distance, the heaviest of apologies in his eyes. <br/>This is all his fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Okay, so, this is unbeta'd, so if there is any mistakes, it'd be great if you could point them out! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and comments are much appreciated !

 

“I don’t know, Dean. I think it’s better I go with you.”

“No. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous, Sam.”

Dean watches as his 14 year old little brother narrows his eyes up at him, sticking out his bottom lip in a full on Sammy-style pout complete with the voice of a stuck up kid. It makes Dean want to call him out on it, be he doesn’t. Something about the chilly breeze and the way Sam shudders along with it as if he were no more than a frail flower, at the mercy of the wind, makes Dean hesitate. “Dad said I could!”

Dean grimaces, not liking the fact that their dad supported this one bit.

 It’s true, John had called and given permission— _more like he gave orders—_ for Sam to accompany Dean with him on his hunts from now on. _Every_ hunt.

 Since Sam was 14 and still hadn’t been on a full-fledged hunt before, John thought it was way past time he got out of the researching and onto the fields, aiming that gun at things that weren’t targets. _Saving people. Hunting things. The family business._

Dean wishes the opposite, wants that innocent of Sam’s to stay exactly there, lighting him up like the clear night sky on July 4th every year. He doesn’t want Sam to see all that there is out in the real world. God knows that a hunter never gets a break, never gets a happy ending. He wants more for his kid, _so_ much more. He deserves the world, Sam does. He only wishes he could give it to him.

“It’s too dangerous. This job is serious, Sam. We’ve never handled anything like this before.” He says sternly, loading his guns into the back of the impala, turning his back to Sam. “Now go on inside. I’ll see you soon.” He doesn’t know how _soon_ soon really is, but he’ll make sure he isn’t gone for anything longer than two weeks.

Sam doesn’t even glance back towards the motel room. The wind ruffles his hair and he shudders. Dean’s about to scold him and tell him to _get a jacket on, now, Sam, or you’ll catch a cold_ , but Sam is already opening his mouth, rejecting Dean’s orders. “No.”

Dean blinks. This is…new. Sam defies John all the time, but Dean? Never him. “Excuse me? What did you just say to me, Sam?” Dean asks, the disbelief in his voice genuine.

Sam sticks out his chin stubbornly, showing his mind was made. “I said no. No, you don’t get to leave me behind. No, I’m not going to sit here while you go have all the fun. This is big, and you know it, and I know it, and I’m old enough to help you!”

“Fun.” Dean echoes dryly. “Sam, nothing about hunting is _fun._ It’s hard, and it’s dangerous, and ninety percent of the time I guarantee you’ll be scared shitless. If you’re looking for fun, go play a video game, go…I don’t know….read a book.” Dean hisses, his tone coming out a little more violent than he’d intended.

He regrets his words when he sees Sam shrink back, confidence lost, eyes cast downwards. “Look, De, I _know_ it’ll be hard, but I’m ready. You trained me yourself.”

“Give me 3 good reasons why I shouldn’t _hand cuff you_ to the sink in that motel room right now.” Dean hisses through  clenched teeth. The thought of having Sam so close to a hunt so dangerous…it made chills run up and down his spine.

“Picking handcuff locks is a simple as swimming.” Sam answers without missing a beat, hope filling his eyes, replacing the despair that had been there seconds ago. “And besides—I’m a fast runner, and I know an exorcism off by heart, and I’m smart and I’m good at thinking on my feet.” Sam says proudly, rocking on his heels. “And I’m a damn good shot.”

Guns didn’t do much against demons, but true, Sam did have a good hand with guns. It wasn’t a comfort for Dean to think—he’d much rather Sam never have to hold a gun in his entire life, though it’s much too late for that. John’s birthday gift to a 7 year old Sam was a day trip to a shooting range where he had his first go at some targets.

Dean started shooting when he was 5.

The sooner he learned to keep Sammy safe, the better, that’s what John always said. He wasn’t wrong.

Dean watches Sam for a long time. All he’d said was true, and he did know an exorcism much better than Dean did…”Fine. You can stay in the motel in town, maybe help out with interviews.” He grumbles. “But you are not—and I mean it, Sam—coming with me to gank them. Not yet, and not on a hunt this big.” Maybe he’d find a little poltergeist for Sam to try out for kicks with him, just a little salt and burn, nothing crazy, and they could work their way up to harder cases.

But no way in hell was he starting Sam off with something like this. Research would be all Sam was limited to.

Sam rejoices in the small victory, dashing inside the impala before Dean could change his mind, shutting the door after, containing himself inside, as if his brother would try to drag him out.

Dean nearly half considers it, but demolishes the idea. He’d made a promise to Sam. He doesn’t break his promises, not to his kid.

Dean climbs into the driver’s side shortly after Sam, arching a brow at him in question. “Don’t you need to pack? We’ll be gone a while, Sam. You know how long hunts can take.” _From dad disappearing for months at a time, Sam did know how long. Dean wishes he didn’t, but he did._

Sam shakes his head, hiding a smile, unfazed by the weight of the question and unaware of the inner monologue Dean had been having. “Already did that.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head at him. His mood was getting lighter and brighter in the presence of his sunshine kid. That was an appropriate name for Sam, he decided, with that smile of his, and those eyes….yeah. Sunshine.

Sam giggled at Dean’s laugh, dimples carving out deep caverns in his cheeks.

 Of course, Sam was _so_ sure he’d get his way with Dean, his things were already packed and loaded in the impala, ready to go. Figures.

Dean ruffles Sam’s hair, speaking in his fondest tone. “Fuckin’ self-assured bitch.”

 “Overprotective jerk,” Sam just as cheerily as if he’d admitted to being in love. Maybe, subconsciously, he had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam offers some insight to the case. Dean leaves for more information.

Dean wasn’t joking when he said this case was big. It _was_ big—they’d never seen anything like it before, as long as he’d been around. Dean was half contemplating calling their father for extra help, but he wanted to prove to John that he could do this on his own, could solve a really hard case, could save people. Could hunt things.

Could do the family business without a babysitter. He knew he didn’t need John’s help, and besides, his dad was working a much different case. Dean was sure that he and Sam had drifted to the back of his father’s mind.

They’d been checking headlines, as usual, and they’d found a little case in the city of Dundas, where they suspect demons have been kidnapping humans for trafficking them as their own personal slaves, to use at their own pleasure. Anyways, Dean did some digging, and it turned out, this case wasn’t little at all. This was not a case of two or three demons…there had to be a substantial amount. This could be a network, going internationally, a network of human slaves sold to demons and it was _huge_ and Dean of all people had discovered it and he was both proud of himself and terrified about it all.

Already 70 missing persons cases in the last 6 years all fitting the same profile, and Dean was sure the demons had everything to do with it, though there were no descriptions of any of the suspects and no interviews from any locals, no other supernatural creature would want to treat a human like that and not eat them. He suspected that they were still alive, and of course, that was reason to hope, but someone who’d been with a demon that long, being treated like a mere pet or plaything…

Dean could imagine it was enough to break even the most unbreakable of people.

-

“That’s it.” Sam grumbles, shutting the motel door behind him as they both enter, exhausted from a long road trip. At least, Dean was exhausted. Sam had snored his way through half the drive. “There is something _definitely_ up here, Dean. With the locals, even.”

The city of Dunbar was small. Like, off the map, small, not many people around, no major buildings or a franchise to speak of. One grocery store in the entire place.

And Sam was right, it _was_ weird. And not because it was small or close to abandoned. The land itself was flat and smooth, without life, seemingly.

No one said hello, and they avoided eye contact. None of the girls working the corner stores batted a lash when Dean laid on his charm, extra heavy. No one smiled, no one joked, and they all seemed…off. Maybe they could be compared to somebody in a trance.

Something was up, and he intended to find out what by interviewing some civilians, when Sam says it all. His fucking genius kid.

“Hey, you think maybe…they know?”

Dean turns to him, eyes shocked and confused. Sam is perched up on the counter of the motel suite, swinging his legs back and forth, looking excited and also nervous. Dean’s fatigue melts away as he ponders this new proposal.

“Know what, Sam? And who?” Dean asks, running a hand back through his blonde spikes.

Sam is practically bouncing where he sits. “The locals. I think maybe they know about the kidnappings. Maybe even that it’s something inhuman doing them. It’d explain why their all so shy, right? They don’t want to do anything that would piss a potential kidnapped off. They’re protecting themselves.”

Sam is a genius sometimes, a real fucking _genius._ And it all makes sense, the pieces falling into place more perfectly the longer Dean considers it. “Shit.” He says, as realization hits. “You’re right.”

“Usually am,” Sam says with confidence, which maybe is pushing it a little bit, but Dean lets it slide, because his kid is the smartest fucker ever and he may have just changed everything Dean assumed about this hunt.

This was bigger than he’d guessed. If the locals were in on it, putting an end to all this would be even harder than Dean thought.

“What if they support the kidnappings?” Dean asks, suddenly excited, high on the thrill of newly discovered information. “What if the locals are keeping this hush hush to the government about the missing persons reports so the demons can keep happy…because maybe they’re getting something in return.”

“Like what?” Sam frowns. “You think it’s maybe some sort of soul for soul deal?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m not sure what to think.” 

Sam considers. “Yeah. We need more information. Let’s go undercover!” Sam says that last part with a lot of enthusiasm, like it was a gift to get to flash a fake ID and lie through your teeth to mourning people to get the information you wanted.

Dean nods in agreement. “Yeah. You’re too young to play fake FED though, Sammy. No offense.”

Sam knows it’s true, but it doesn’t make him any happier about having to stay behind. His kid was always looking to grow up too fast, when Dean hoped for only the opposite.

Dean was only 18, but the thing’s he’d seen throughout all the years of hunting always make him look so much older. He carried himself in a way that screamed authority, so much so that often times complete strangers don’t find it difficult to look to him for guidance in a tough situation. He’s glad, in those cases, that he grew up fast.

Sam, on the other hand, could never pass for anything above 16, and that was cutting it close. He had roundish cheeks and caving dimples and he smiled to bright and laughed to loud and it all made him very childish, and he wishes sometimes he could act more like Dean, be more serious, more composed, look less excited about stupid things…but when he’d voiced his opinion out loud to Dean, telling him he wished to be more like  him, Dean started to look very sad and told Sam that _no, you have to stay innocent, you don’t want to see the things I’ve seen._ And it made Sam think that maybe Dean was right. He never brought it up again after that.

 “So what? Do I just hang out here and do nothing while you go out and half all the fun?” Sam tries to hide his disappointment best he can. He was lucky he even got brought on this hunt.

Dean gives him a tight smile. “That is exactly what you do.”

Sam gives Dean a glare that could stop birds midflight, but he’s long grown immune to the power of Sam’s bitch face, and so he answers it with a grin and a ruffle of Sam’s hair, which, did not, make Sam any happier as he pats his mop back into its regular disarray. “I thought you agreed to let me come so I could _help.”_

“I didn’t really agree to let you come. I kind of was tricked.” Dean points out. “Besides, you are helping. That insight about the locals was extremely helpful.”

Dean wants to punch himself in the face when Sam gets overly excited about getting that little bit of praise, it made him feel like he never voice is approval of Sam often enough. The kid always sought it out like it was the most satisfying type of drug, and it broke Dean’s heart. “Really?” Sam asks, eyes brightening. “You think so?”

Dean, being the softy Sam makes him, pulls Sam off the counter and into his arms for a hug he wishes could last them a lifetime. “Yeah, Sam. I wouldn’t have figured it out on my own.”

Sam gives Dean this smile that, swear to fuck, could end all war and starvation and discrimination if everyone just had a person in their life like Dean’s sunshine kid.

Dean’s left breathless because of that smile, clinging to Sam and shutting his eyes, relishing on the idea that if Sam was sunshine, making everything he touched into a ray of light, Dean was a cloud, shrouding and concealing him, being selfish with him, keeping his Sammy all to himself.

And although he half-heartedly tried, he couldn’t make himself regret it.

“I’ve gotta head out, kiddo.” Dean says finally, feeling a little dizzy when pulling away takes more effort than it should’ve. “I’ll be back before tonight, yeah?”

Sam peers up at him with thoughtful hazel eyes. “And what am _I_ supposed to do in the meantime?” He mumbles, blinking expectantly.

Dean shrugs, leaving Sam to pull on his fed suit quickly and efficiently, grabbing his fake ID and tucked it into his breast pocket, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He never liked the interview aspect of hunts, he wasn’t a people person. If Sam was older, he’d be a genius at that part, winning over everybody with that killer grin of his. _One day,_ Dean thinks. _One day we’ll be a team, a real one, with equal responsibilities, saving each other as much as we save the victims of every nasty thing out there_. It felt like a selfish dream, but he couldn’t deny having it. “I don’t know. Read a book. Watch a movie. Entertain yourself, Sam. It’s nothing you haven’t had to do before.”

He can see the slight dismissal hurts when Sam’s shoulders hunch over in defeat, but before he can say something to soften the blow of his words, Sam is already slinking over to the couch, pulling out a history text book, and flipping open to a random page, nose already buried somewhere in a place that wasn’t the dusty hotel room.

Dean marvels at him for a moment, before turning the knob of the motel door, calling, “Bye, Sammy, stay safe.”

Sam turns back to respond, but Dean’s already gone, the door closing behind him.

Sam shuts his eyes, trying not to feel weak. “Goodbye, De. Love you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shares a little info about what he's learned about the case. Warning: Fluff near end. C:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the happiness while it lasts, because the next chapters are going to be pretty dark and it's going to get worse before it gets better, I'll just say that.. :(

 

_Tick._

The clock is Sam’s worst enemy, as it steals away all the hours, the minutes the seconds, he could be— _should be—_ spending with Dean. Instead, Dean is gone to interview witnesses who might now a thing about a thing….though, with the theory they have so far, it’s less than likely they’ll be willing to share anything they know.

He lets out a long sigh, shoulders slumping. The motel room was cold, and winter was fast approaching. Sam, who was just 14, was skinny and lanky and his body barely produced enough body heat to keep him from getting hypothermia, and didn’t nearly stop the slight shivers that passed through him. The motel didn’t have heating, so he settled for wrapping himself up in many blankets on the sofa, turning on the TV and praying for sleep, and that Dean would be there when he wakes up, maybe wrapped around him, making him feel safe, Dean’s own body heat keeping the both of them warm under the covers, just like at night.

They stopped sharing beds around John when Sam turned 12, because John had developed a sort of suspicion that something was up, because of the clingy way they’d acted around each other. Dean, at the time, was 16, and in his teenage prime, it was to be expected he’d want to be out of the motel all the time, living life, doing things, doing… _woman._ But he seemed to mostly prefer to be around Sam, and that worried John. They never talked about how brothers don’t act like Sam and Dean do, but John started getting motel rooms with two queens. He’d sleep with Sammy, and Dean would get a bed to himself.

But when John was gone, they both caved into their old habits. There was nothing like falling asleep wrapped up safe and loved in Dean’s arms, with Dean’s chest to his back and his breath, slow and even, washing over Sam. Nothing better than waking up to Dean tracing invisible patterns on his spine, though his hand would freeze as soon as he realized Sam had awaken. Dean does funny things like that sometimes—maybe he’ll stare at Sam too long and glance away nervously when Sam catches his eye, or he’ll reach out to stroke Sam’s hair back, and freeze his hand mid-air.

Sam never bothered to wonder why Dean did all those things, and he didn’t think he’d ever ask him, but it weighed on his mind now, in his burrito blanket-hut, as he shivered and shook and waited for his big brother to come back.

-

Sam’s warmed considerably, and is on the edge of a comfortable sleep, when Dean _finally_ comes strolling back into the motel room, looking thoughtful as he shuts the door behind him and toes off his shoes, a look on his face that said it was a hard day. Sam could relate—he’s not so fond of being separated from Dean. “So.”

Sam lets out a groan, making himself become wider awake than he’d been 5 minutes ago, because Dean was back, and annoying him already. Dean liked to do things like this, be sly, be secretive. Sam suspects it partly because he knows it drives him nuts. “ _So?”_

“So I think you’re right. About the locals knowing something.” Dean nods, peeling off his FED suit jacket and loosening his tie with annoyance. He hated suits, too constricting, too hot, too hard to fight in. He throws them over the edge of the bed without a glance, digging around for a Led Zeppelin shirt and jeans.

“Yeah?” Sam grins, excitedly, posture straightening in anticipation, some of the blankets falling away. “Why’d you think that?”

“None of the locals would talk to me, wouldn’t tell me anything, until I flashed them my ID and threatened to take them into custody or charge them for withholding information.” Dean says, voice weary. “And when I _did_ get them to talk, well…it was clear there was something they were trying to hide.”

Sam peers curiously at Dean, intrigued by this. He’d never heard of witnesses trying to hide information before. “Hmm. Interesting. What now?”

Dean stretches his arms out and slides onto the couch beside Sam, yawning. “Well, I’m exhausted.” He admits in a gentle voice, turning to Sam hopefully. “I was thinking maybe order a movie on pay-per-view and then bed?”

Sam hasn’t heard of any better plan, so he grabs the remote and a blanket off the edge of the bed, and plops right down into Dean’s lap like he owns the place, spreading the blanket out around them, and tucking his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, thinking _finally._ There was no better place to be, when Dean chuckles and mumbles, “Eager, much?” engulfing Sam up in his arms and after a moment, pressing his lips to Sam’s hair. “You won’t be able to see the TV with your head stuffed in my shirt, Sammy,” Dean teased, nuzzling Sam’s hair with his nose.

Sam presses a light kiss to Dean’s collar bone, knowing that he maybe was pressing the boundaries to what they normally did a little, maybe just walking a thin line between brotherly and romantic, but Dean didn’t stiffen or push him away, so he decided that it wasn’t anything too bad.

“That’s okay,” Sam sighs in reply. “Don’t wanna. Just wanna sleep.”

“If you wanna sleep,” Dean says, smoothing his hands down Sam’s spine. “Then go to bed.”’

Sam rolled his eyes Silly Dean—he was only pretending. They both knew that neither of them cared. “No, thanks. I’m quite comfortable here.” And he _was_. More than comfortable, he was perfectly content to spend the rest of his days huddled here, with Dean, warm and happy and very, very safe.

“Bastard.” Dean says lovingly, resting his chin on Sam’s head. “….Sleep well.”

“Don’t leave me.” Sam meant to say, _don’t leave me on the couch_ but it didn’t really come out like that, and he didn’t really mind as much as he maybe should have. Dean lets out a gentle sigh.

“I won’t, Sam.” He promises, voice low. “Not ever.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The path to paradise begins in hell." -Dante Alighieri

Morning arrives with silence after a blissfully dreamless night—after so many 3ams filled with waking up from scarring nightmares, he’s grateful for at least a dead rest.

But the feeling of blessedness doesn’t last long at all--Sam knows something is wrong the second he opens his eyes, a pit of unease settling low in his stomach that makes him gasp out loud in pain.

_Yes. Something is very, very wrong._

For one, he’s under the bed, tucked away, hidden by the bed skirt. He panics for a moment, seeing nothing but blackness, thinking for a half second that he’d gone blind, until he realizes his surroundings.

Confused, he carefully rolls out from underneath the motels bed, and stands, swaying a little at the head rush that comes along with getting to his feet so quickly, blinking around and shaking disorientation.

He’s not sure how he got under the bed, but he’ll take a guess and say Dean had something to do with it.

There’s not the smell of coffee shop coffee and doughnuts, no clicks of a keyboard as Dean surfs the net, no shower running, no Zeppelin playing on the radio beside the bed. There is dead and heavy silence that weighs on Sam’s shoulders like boulders.

Instead, there’s a blood stain on the bed, where Dean had been, nothing huge, just a few drops, clearly, to Sam, at least, dripped in a perfect circle, with a line going through it, and a triangle in the middle, carefully designed so it wouldn’t be suspicious, but so that Sam would know without a doubt that this had been done on purpose.

His heart stops.

 _No._ Not this. God, please, _anything but this._

He knows this symbol inside and out—he and Dean, by the orders of their father, had set out an entire alphabet and important code words in the form of symbols, in case of danger. Dean had done this. Dean had wanted to warn him.

_No. Please…_

The circle meant danger.

_Dean’s not safe._

The diagonal line through it meant call dad.

_Dean needs help._

The triangle was for demons.

_Oh god they’ve taken him, they have him, they’re going to **break** him. _

Sam feels a closing up feeling in his throat, and suddenly he’s struggling for air, clawing at his neck with panicked movements.

 For a split second, he half wonders if a witch had been by with a hex bag to stop the air to his lungs, but then he remembered….it’d been a while since his last asthma attack, and they almost always happen under stress. Given his luck, it only made sense for one to strike now.

His knees give out as the panic sets in, the asthma heightened in result— _Dean is gone, Dean is hurt, Dean is gone and he’s_ hurt _and you were asleep as they dragged him out, what an idiot, you worthless, fucking useless child—_and he gasps like a fish out of water, eyes bulging, as he manages to crawl over to the duffel bag that held all their possessions, and dig for his puffer blindly. He’s no good to Dean dead. He has to live so he can help.

He’s got to help.

This had never happened before, he’d always had Dean to be there for him, to help him through it, to breathe air into him with his words of comfort alone, as if his voice was the medicine that opened up his lungs and forced them to resume their work. But Dean is gone, the demons he’d been hunting had taken him. Sam had to do this. There was no one here to help him, and that seemed a petty problem compared to what Dean was likely facing right this second, maybe a world away.

He takes two breaths of his puffer and feels relief slowly fill him as his chest expands obediently and air enters. _Safe._ He can breathe. The attack is over.

Okay. Focus.

_Okay, Sam. Now what?_

Dad. Dean had said to call dad—dad will know what to do. He always does.

Mostly, though, Sam doesn’t like his violent ideas—kill first, question later. If everyone live like John Winchester, the world would be a terrifying and extremely violent place. Everyone would die bloody.

He lunges for his phone, speed dialing their father with fingers that shook so bad just keeping it in his hand was a task that he failed at three times, before pressing it to his ear, hard to even hear it over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears, deafeningly loud.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Nothing. John had better things to do than worry about his own flesh and blood. Sam should’ve left a voicemail, maybe, he knows John normally checks those sometimes, but he’s so angry at his father’s abandonment that he slams the phone shut and shoves it in his pocket. He’s on his own now.

He’s going to find his brother.

**_~Earlier~_ **

Sam’s asleep beside him, curled under his chin, and Dean is stroking invisible patterns up and down Sam’s spine, thinking that if he could have anything in the world, it would be this, would be _Sam,_ to be able to love  him in a way that wasn’t restricted to platonic. He sometimes wondered if maybe Sam felt it too, the fucked up feeling of always wanting more, wanting to be closer, or if it was just Dean, alone in this sick craving he couldn’t stop.

He could live in this infinity forever.

He watches his sleeping kid, the way Sam’s chest rises and falls, evenly. There is no sound besides their in sync breathing, and it’s all quiet and lovely and peaceful.

Until it isn’t, anymore, and there’s gravel crunching under tires just outside their motel room and headlights shining in through the window and a new weight to the silence like never before.

Dean knows right then just like he always knows, that something is _wrong,_ that someone—or some _thing—_ is there to be get them, and they’re not the towns welcoming committee.

_Seconds left. They’ll be inside soon._

Dean’s got to think fast. There is no running, there is no fighting. They’re going to take him. That’s fine, that’s _fact._

But he’ll go to hell a million times over before they let him lay a finger on his Sammy.

He removes himself from the bed, tucking a pocket knife and gun with bullets dipped into holy water into the elastic band of the track pants he’d fallen asleep in, before scooping Sam up, and gently placing a kiss on his forehead—indulging, as he shouldn’t have--before tucking him under the bed, still asleep, concealing him from whatever was about to burst through the front door. Sam’s a deep sleeper, and Dean will do his best to keep quiet so he doesn’t wake up and try to help, resulting in him only getting hurt.

 _Promise me, whatever happens, my kid stays out of it. Just let him **stay safe.** _ It’s a wild prayer, made in seconds of brief panic and anxiety, and Dean sends it out to whomever might be up there—whatever high power there was…or wasn’t. He wasn’t big on God, but he needed to say something, needed to hope, just a little, that when they entered, Sam would be safe. _He has to be safe._

Dean knows he can’t make them suspicious, so after that, he climbs back into bed, stiff and expecting, until exactly 43 breaths later, the motel door is kicked down, and three demons that Dean recognized by their dark eyes the second they spotted him, thunder in, not trying to be stealthy or subtle.

He sits up lightning fast, aiming a gun at them, before remembering the sleeping Sam, and pulling out his holy water flask from the dresser drawer, splashing them, and sending them to the ground as they moan and writhe, clawing at their burns. He manages to disable two of them, but the third is much too fast, and he’s going at Dean a second after, knifing blindly, managing a hard gash on Dean’s palm which bleeds profusely.

Dean gets a wicked idea in the seconds that follow, and he expertly circles his palm around to let the blood drip in an intricate pattern of warning for Sam while defending himself silently with his other hand, eyes narrowed, heart racing. He knew he was fighting a losing battle when the other two demons healed themselves, and his knife had been flung across the room.

“You’ll be coming with us, _Winchester.”_ One of the demons snarls his name like it’s some sort of horrible curse. Dean hopes his name tastes disgusting on their killer tongues.

He fights with all he is for an entirety of 10 minutes, but there’s no hope. His kid is still asleep or is hiding—he didn’t emerge. He’s safe. As safe as he can be, all alone, there.

His last conscious thought as they drag him out of the motel, is this:

_Sammy, I’m so sorry. And I love you. So much, kid, so much._

_So much more than I should._

-

Before Sam can locate Dean, there is research to be done—plenty of it. These demons were dangerous and extremely intelligent, and they wouldn’t leave much of a trail that could be easily followed. This much he knew.

But Sam is a hunter, and a Winchester at that—and he’ll find Dean if it’s the last thing he does. Maybe it will be.

He can’t bring himself to care. His mind is an endless chant of _DeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDean_ and it consumes and poisons every one of his thoughts until his big brother is all he can think about, rationally or not.

He _has_ to get to him before they take him somewhere far, far away—if they haven’t already.

Despair makes a stab at his heart and Sam has to force himself to remain hopeful, otherwise nothing in this rescue mission would work…and it all had to be planned very precisely, it had to be executed just so, because these demons, unlike the others they’ve dealt with, are not driven by blind rage or revenge or need to collect souls. They’ve got all the time in the world to do this, they’re well organized and experienced, and Sam is just a 14 year old hunter who’s never even been on a real hunt by himself.

Part of him knows he hasn’t got a prayer, but it’s overruled by the other part of him screaming that he needs to get to his big brother needs to save him needs to _get him away from the demons_ because he did this because of Sam—his guard was down and he hid Sam to save him and now Dean’s hurt.

“I’m coming, De.” Sam whispers, clenching his fists, feeling tears sting at his eyes. “I swear I am. I don’t care where they’ve got you or how many of them there are. I’m gonna get you out.”

He means every word.

-

“You got the Winchester, hmm?”

“There he is, sir.”

Footsteps. Getting closer. They stop.

“Yes. I see. He’s bloodied.”

“He fought very hard.” Cleared throat.

Brief pause. “I see. And the other one? The youngest? Where is he?”

“I d-don’t know, sir. He wasn’t there when we arrived. This one was alone, asleep.”

“How odd. It seemed before like it was rare for them to willingly be separated. In any case, the youngest one will want to find his brother.”

“He’ll not succeed. We’ve covered our paths exceptionally well.”

“For your sake, I do hope so. The Winchester’s are very well known in the hunter community for a reason, Joel. _Don’t_ mess this up, or it will be more than Sam trying to find him. The entire community will be after us.”

“Y-Yes sir.”

Retreating footsteps.

Slowly, Dean forces himself to blink his eyes open, squinting to get used to the dim lighting as he adjusts. _Sam. They mentioned Sam._

There is a vague throbbing in his left temple. His knuckles are blooded, his lip is split…but he’s okay. No broken bones he can feel, no permanent damage. He’s tied down but not gagged to a chair. They didn’t need to gag  him, because Dean isn’t a screamer. A curser, and a smart-mouth, maybe…but Dean doesn’t ever scream. _Sam. Why did they bring him up?_ He couldn’t remember the conversation he’d heard just seconds ago—but bits and pieces drifted around in his confused and disoriented brain.

He looks up to the demon, watching him with eyes as black as the night. “What the hell do you want from me?” He spit, his voice scratchy from not being used in so long. Vaguely, he wondered how long he’d been here.

 _Sam._ Sam would wake up, realize he was gone and see the message signed out in Dean’s own blood….and knowing his kid, he’d ignore it and do all he could to dig up information on where they may have taken him. It’s what Dean would do if Sam was the one who’d been taken.

Dean hoped he was wrong, that this of all times was when Sam decided to listen to him.

He doubted it, though. He sincerely doubted it.

_Please. Whatever happens, leave my kid out of this. This isn’t about him. He should be miles and miles away from all this, he should be safe._

“You tried to stop our entire operation, here, Winchester.” The demon snarls, who, from previous conversation, Dean suspected was called Joel.

“Other hunters are going to come looking for me.” Dean hoped Sam wasn’t one of them. “They’ll shut this thing down before you can blink your monster eyes.”

Joel smirks. “Yeah? Well then, I guess we’ll just have to give them the five star experience. Listen, kid, it’s not the first time we’ve had hunters sniff around our business. We always take ‘em in, treat ‘em real nice until they’re so broken all they know how to do is please a demon and do chores. Don’t even remember their name by the time we’re done.” He says matter-of-factly. Dean would love to stab the smug look on his face, to mangle his features so that they could only be frozen in a face of horror.

“That’s what you want to do to me?” Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes, feeling stupidly brave, so brave, he was sure it’d get him punished somehow. He continued with the bravado act, not caring what happened to him. He should, he knows, he should focus on getting out to get to _Sam—_ Sam who was everything, who was his entire world, but Sam who wasn’t here in the place of danger—but for now, Dean has to do this, has to provoke just a little, to test his boundaries. “You can’t touch me.”

Joel doesn’t react other than a bright, genuine smile, which isn’t what he expected. Instead, Joel moves to leave, hand paused on the medieval looking doorknob. “You think you’re unbreakable, don’t you?” He scoffed. “Well, Dean Winchester, you’ll see. You’ll see that in the end, here in the demon black market, we can break even the most unbreakable of men.”

With that, he leaves, and Dean is left alone in the dark, and Dean’s awake for hours just thinking about all the awful this place must harbor, and then trying to think happier thoughts, like Sam and his sunshine smile, like sunny days, like speeding down the freeway with the windows all rolled down, his kid with that laugh like…like fucking _freedom._

Eventually, after who knows how many hours, Dean falls asleep, exhausted and anxious, his last conscious thought a repetitive hum of: _Sammy._


End file.
